


I set these fires just for you

by MsPeppernose



Series: I set these fires just for you [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, First Date, M/M, strip Mario Kart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What about something like strip poker?” Pete says, surprising even himself with his amazing plan. “But with Mario Kart?”</p><p>Frank laughs, and it’s a lot of laughing, so much so that Pete’s a little worried that Frank’s laughing <i>at</i> him, so he quirks an eyebrow. </p><p>“That’s a fucking awesome idea, sorry for laughing. I’m just so happy that I always wear so many layers of clothing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I set these fires just for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySmutterella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/gifts).



> Prequel #2 to All I want is Nothing
> 
> This one is entirely LadySmutterella's fault. Blame her. Also big thanks to Immoral Crow for beta <3
> 
> Title is from Stitches / FIATC

It’s not a date. Not really.

Pete and Frank have been texting back and forth for a week, ever since they shared a drunken kiss, and then a hungover kiss in Mikey’s house.

The word _date_ was mentioned at the time, but Pete’s not one hundred percent sure if this really is one. It’s been described in various texts as hanging out in Frank’s place with pizza and video games, and that doesn’t sound all that date-like. There’s been enough flirting over the week that Pete hopes there’ll be kissing and maybe more, especially when he thinks of how toe-curling their first kiss was. They never got to finish that kiss, getting interrupted at the wrong moment, and Pete is ever-so-curious if they’ll find out what happens next tonight when their video games lose their thrill.

The mention of pizza makes Pete decide to pick some up on the way to Frank’s, maybe to save them the bother of ordering, maybe to just do a nice thing. There’s this really great place just two blocks from Frank’s and it’s no bother to carry it over.

Frank beams when he opens his apartment door. He ushers Pete in but there’s no kiss hello even if they kissed before. There’s lots of little smiles though, and Pete feels a little giddy but he’s not entirely sure why. Frank takes the pizza box and disappears and returns before Pete even has his jacket off. It’s slightly awkward small talk for the first few minutes, and Pete thinks Frank might be feeling it too because they’re still standing at the entrance to the living room. 

Pete spots some drawings on the wall; all unframed pieces in pen and pencil, sizes varying from really small to pretty big. They’re beautiful.  
“Can I look?” Because maybe they’re personal, and maybe Pete is being a nosy asshole. Frank nods though so Pete goes right up close to see them properly. Pete knows Frank’s a tattoo artist, which is such a badass job, and it’s a silly question, but he asks, “Did you do these?”  
“I did. These are all works in progress,” he says. He gestures to the ones on the left. “These are all for clients. Most of them are almost finished.” He points to the clump of drawings on the right. “And those are just ideas, maybe for my portfolio, maybe not for anything.”  
“They’re really fucking amazing. You’re really talented.“ Frank just grins in reply.  
“Do you ever tattoo yourself?”  
“I have done, I try not to.”  
“Why?”  
“I’m running out of real estate, I’m nearly full. So I’m trying to save some of my remaining space for other artists.”

Pete nods. That makes sense. It also makes Pete wonder what Frank has tattooed himself with and just how full his body really is. It’s an interesting thought.

“What’s this one?” He indicates to one small framed pieces. It’s a geometric owl, small and simple, all in black and greyscale. It’s on that fine, thin paper that Pete knows from getting tattooed himself, and it looks like it’s seen better days.  
“It’s the stencil from the first tattoo I even did. When you’re an apprentice you have to practice on oranges and pigskin - though I didn’t do the pigskin, I used upholstery fabric - and then you’re allowed to tattoo a real life human person. This was on a buddy of mine, but I kept the stencil. “He shrugs. He looks humble and cute and adorable, and Pete wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t though, because then Frank’s bringing him through to his tiny kitchen where the pizza is sitting on the counter top. They’re only there for a minute before Pete hears a _tap tap tap_ on the kitchen tiles. He looks down and sees -- well he sees a decrepitly old and worn small dog padding along, pink tongue dangling from its mouth.

“This is Sweetpea,” Frank says. And when Pete just smiles, Frank clarifies, “My dog.”  
Pete obviously knows it’s a dog, but she sure is an unusual one so maybe some people need confirmation. “She’s awesome. Can I pet her?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”  
“Is she friendly?”  
Frank laughs. “Yeah, she’ll probably lick you to death.”  
Pete bends down to the floor to give Sweetpea a decent cuddle, scratching behind her ears. She half closes her eyes and gives Pete a goofy smile, her tongue hanging out further. “Awesome. She’s so fucking cute.” And she really is. Despite the fact that her fur is greying and curling at the ends, despite the fact that she’s propably seen more that her fair share of years, of _life_ , she’s a cutie.  
“She is. She learnt it from me, I think.” Frank grins down at Pete, leaning on the kitchen counter and looking cute as fuck. Maybe Sweetpea really did learn it from him, because Pete has the urge to pet Frank, too.

Pete stands back up, hands in his pockets, when Frank starts easing the pizza box open.

“Dude,” Frank says. He sounds unsure, and when Pete looks, Frank’s face is twisted into a grimace which is exactly the wrong reaction anyone should have to pizza.  
“You don’t like it?” Pete asks, trying not to sound disappointed.  
“It’s not that. I just. I thought maybe Mikey told you? I can’t eat dairy, so-“  
“No cheese,” Pete says. He winces. He fucking knows that; he’s had food with Mikey and his friends enough times that he should have remembered. “Fuck. Sorry.”  
Frank shrugs. “No big deal.”  
“I’ll order another one. I feel awful.”  
“Dude, it’s just a pizza. I don’t want this one to go to waste. Maybe we can pick the cheese off? If it’s really, really off then I can eat it,” Frank gins. Pete’s certain that Andy’s straight edge veganism wouldn’t be half as forgiving as Frank is, and picking cheese off the pizza wouldn’t be allowed at all.  
“But if we pick the cheese off, it’s just dough, right? Kinda boring?”  
“I’ll live. I’m used to it by now. And I like pizza dough anyway.” Frank gives Pete a big smile and Pete feels better.

They spend a little while picking the molten cheese off a portion of the pizza. As they hunch over the pizza box, their heads close, Pete can smell Frank’s vanilla shampoo and he gets butterflies thinking about it. He gets a big grin - Pete would say a _cheesy_ grin but even he’s not that bad - from Frank when they’re finished he doesn’t feel quite so bad anymore.

The pizza is pretty good, and Pete even tries a cheese-less slice just for the sake of it. 

“It’s okay,” Pete concedes. “It’s sort of pizza, like most of the components are there.”  
“Except for the cheese?” Frank grins, taking another huge bite of his slice.  
“Right. So it’s not quite _real_ pizza.”  
“Like imaginary pizza? You get used to it. It’s nicer with more stuff on it, garlic, and veggies, whatever.”  
“I dunno if I could get behind the no cheese thing,” Pete says, though he’s happy to try it again if Frank asks.  
“It’s better if you don’t go for the cheese version and pull it off. Like, if you start with no cheese and build from there.”  
“Yeah, I’ll take your word for it,” Pete says. “I was Edge for a while when I was younger. Even had a XXX tattoo.” He points to a black panther on his wrist. “It’s under the panther. Didn’t feel like any point in keeping it if I eat meat now.” Frank leans in closer, studying the ink on Pete’s wrist. He doesn’t touch Pete’s skin, though he nods like he approves of the work. “So I know plenty of vegan food even if it’s been a while, but I never bothered with vegan pizza.”  
Pete can’t help but smile when Frank replies with, “I’ll show you the next time.” 

By the time they’re both full, but long before the huge pizza is close to being demolished, they switch on the Wii for a few rounds of Mario Kart.

Mario Kart is hardy the most sophisticated of video games to play. There’s skill involved, of course, but not in the same way as something violent or tactical like Call of Duty or Halo. Based on this, Pete would have thought that Mario Kart was actually a good idea, that it would be friendly competition and just a nice way to have fun while getting to know each other a little. Not so much.

Frank is quite competitive, and it only fuels Pete to be the same. While they’re fairly well matched, every victory is celebrated and playfully rubbed in each other’s faces.

After countless rounds that they haven’t kept a running score for, Pete thinks maybe they should start keeping a tally.  
“Why?” Frank asks.  
“Just because.”  
“That’s not a fucking reason, dude.” Frank laughs though.  
“Well, how do we know who wins if we don’t keep score?”  
Frank makes a face. “Do we need to know? It’s just for fun, right?”  
“But it could be more fun.”

Frank turns his body towards Pete’s, tucking his foot up under him. They’ve gotten pretty comfortable on the couch, taking their shoes off, but there’s still a big gap between them. Pete wishes there wasn’t.

“I dunno.” He makes a cute little face considering. “I’m a lover not a fighter.”  
That’s flirting if ever Pete’s heard it, so he lets his eyes travel up Frank’s body, from his socked feet right up to the ink on his neck and the curious, challenging smile on his lips. “That sounds like a cop out. You afraid you’ll lose?”

Frank laughs hard. “Nope. Them’s fighting words though, Wentz. What do I get if I win?”

It’s a question that sparks Pete’s interest. It sounds wonderfully flirty, and Pete is torn between playing it cool and flirting his ass off.

“What do you want if you win?” He asks, but that’s an answer that’s sadly not as flirty. It does make Frank smile a little though.  
“Tell me what happened when you and Mikey went on vacation to Las Vegas?” Frank asks. Pete laughs out loud. He can’t help it.  
“Do I have a death wish? Fuck, no. That dies with me.”

“Worth a shot,” Frank says. “You know I’m actually only curious because Mikey won’t tell me. I’m convinced it’s boring.”

Pete mimes zipping his lip and throwing away the key. If Pete gave _that_ away then Mikey would tell all of Pete’s secrets in retaliation. It is actually a pretty boring story, just a really silly, drunken night before Mikey stopped drinking but it’s been locked away as a secret for both of them and sharing is not an option.

“So, if your mouth is zipped closed, you can’t tell me what I win?”  
Pete grins and shakes his head.  
“Well,” Frank says and Pete’s listening because Frank looks like he’s had the best idea. “What about, like, a little ongoing contest?”  
“Like what?” Pete can never keep his lip zipped for long.  
“What if on each round someone gets something? We seem to be pretty well matched anyway so it’ll stack up. No one loses in the end then.”  
“What about something like strip poker?” Pete says, surprising even himself with his amazing plan. “But with Mario Kart?”

Frank laughs, and it’s a lot of laughing, so much so that Pete’s a little worried that Frank’s laughing _at_ him, so he quirks an eyebrow. 

“That’s a fucking awesome idea, sorry for laughing. I’m just so happy that I always wear so many layers of clothing.”  
“You won’t be when I beat you into the ground anyway!”  
“You’re about to eat your words, Wentz!” Frank’s voice is so casual but there’s a lot of strength behind his word and he has the most curious look on his face. 

It’s playful banter, very light-hearted, but Pete’s skin also prickles at the thought that they’re about to play this. Pete’s seen _most_ of Frank’s body already; his arms in shirt sleeves, his legs when he walked into Mikey’s spare room and saw Frank in his boxers. But now Pete’s going to see the rest, in theory at least. He just has to beat the living shit out of him at Mario Kart to earn it.

Pete applies all of his gaming skills and beats Frank easily on the first round. Pete gleefully hums _Patricia the Stripper_ , but Frank waves it off and removes his outer shirt. He’s still wearing at least two layers above the waist, and those are just the ones that Pete can see. This might not be easy.

Frank wins the next one. Pete peels off his hoody and tosses it onto the armchair next to him. No big deal, just a hoody, though there’s some anticipation bubbling away under his skin thinking this is the first step of many.

They each win one more and lose their socks. That’s boring though, Pete decides. Fuck socks.

Pete wins the next two rounds, but he’s sure that the last one was just good luck - two banana skins in a row for Frank - even if it was freakin’ awesome. He punches the air as Frank takes off his last t-shirt, but he has a wifebeater on underneath. Pete would curse the fact that Frank’s not shirtless yet if he didn’t look so fucking good in a wifebeater; maybe it’s a big fat cliché, but it’s how it looks on him with all that ink on his arms, his neck, his collarbones. 

Pete wants to see more of it, and maybe touch it, too. He can’t stop staring, so much so that he’s still peering at the ink on Frank’s shoulder when Frank begins the next round without him.

“You snooze, you lose,” Frank says, not even glancing at Pete. And fine, Pete can afford to lose this round.

He does lose, and he has to take his shirt off - it’s that or his pants, and he wants to hang on to them for another while - and it means he’s left bare-chested on Frank’s couch. It’s Frank who stares this time. Pete’s gut reaction is to squirm under Frank’s gaze, but that evaporates and he feels the warmth - the _heat_ , even - of Frank’s eyes on his arms, on his chest. And although Pete’s belly is pretty fucking flat from so much work in the gym, he still sucks it in a little; he’s full of pizza and he wants to look good for Frank.

“I’m taking your pants next, Wentz,” Frank says, his eyes dark. 

Pete’s actually starting to want to lose so that Frank will look at him like that some more, so he flails on the track. He accidentally makes it really obvious though, just driving in a circle in the middle of the track without any sort of aim, and Frank’s starting to whoop and cheer, _almost_ at the finish line, when his tone changes. He pauses the game, and Pete’s totally rumbled. 

“What are you doing? You want to lose?” Frank asks, his voice heavy with accusation.  
Pete just raises his eyebrows, tilts his head and says, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing now, would it?”  
“Maybe not,” Frank says slowly. Then, he turns his attention back to the screen where he drives his car backwards. 

Pete laughs. “We can’t both try to lose!”  
“We can!”  
“Yeah, but it’s a less fun?”  
“I dunno. Seems alright,” Frank leers.

“Okay, how bout we both actually try to win this one?”  
Frank grins and shrugs. “Works for me. Like I said, your pants are mine.” With that, he turns his little car around and drives full speed over the finish line. “Hand ‘em over!”

Pete can’t help but laugh, because even if he _wants_ to strip with Frank now, he definitely feels like he walked himself into that.

“Fine!” 

Pete stands, and he has to take a steadying breath before his hands land on his jeans, then unbuttons and unzips them slowly. He’s looking ahead of him to the TV screen to begin with, but when he feels Frank’s eyes all over him again he turns to face Frank. Of course, Pete had to wear really fucking skinny jeans tonight, so he has to do a little shimmy to get them down his thighs, but that’s just fine. Frank seems to enjoy that bit, just arching one perfect, dark eyebrow, watching Pete as Pete watches him. Frank licks his lips as Pete’s jeans hit the floor, and Pete has to remember to breathe. 

“Alright,” Pete says. He has to adjust his boxers, just for the sake of politeness, just to make sure he’s covered. For now. “So I kinda have to win this round, right?”  
“Good luck,” Frank snickers, eyeing Pete again.

Pete does win, and he’s pretty glad, because when Frank peels off his wifebeater his ink is gorgeous, his skin is beautiful. 

Maybe it should be strange that a sort-of-date has turned into stripping, and maybe it should feel odd that they’re now both sitting half naked on the couch, playing fucking Mario Kart of all things, but Pete can’t remember the last time he had this good a time.

Pete wants to win the next round. He no longer cares about getting naked first, not at all, but he really wants to see Frank sitting casually in his underwear too. He thinks about cheating, maybe elbowing Frank during the race or signing off key, sitting in his lap obnoxiously, or maybe even standing up and mooning him, but in the end he doesn’t need it.

There’s a turtle shell on the track and it sends Frank skidding and spinning. Pete overtakes him and wins. 

He punches the air. “Pants off! Pants off! Pants off!”

“Okay, you win.”  
“I don’t win until you’re naked,” Pete says, and he gets a wave of desire in his stomach as the words leave his mouth. It’s the first time that nudity has been specifically mentioned even if Pete is sure that’s the entire point of playing strip Maria Kart.  
“I see.” 

Frank stands and undoes his jeans. They’re not skinny and tight like Pete’s, so they fall pretty easily, but Frank locks eyes with Pete and never drops his gaze the whole time. Pete swallows thickly as Frank stands again, still looking directly into Pete’s eyes. His boxers fit him in a way that makes Pete want to pull them off, and Pete tries not to let himself linger looking at them, even if _wow_.

When Frank sits again, he sits much closer to Pete, no proper gap between them this time. 

“One round left,” Pete says. “Winner takes all.”  
“All?” Frank says, considering. Instead of picking up his controller again, he turns his body so that he’s half-facing Pete. There’s a gentle touch of Frank’s hand to Pete’s shoulder and their bare thighs press together. “There’s a lot at stake.”  
“There is.”

Up until now they’ve been very easy with each other, their jokes and flirting filling the evening without much effort at all. Right now though, Pete feels a little stuck. He wants to kiss Frank, and this is where everything has been heading, but he’s suddenly overcome with a big bout of shyness, so he just repeats, “There is.” 

Frank tucks a chunk of his hair behind his ear, but a little clump escapes and Pete brings his hand up to brush it away from Frank’s forehead without even thinking about it. Frank looks shy too. They’ve both been playing it so big and bold all evening, bravado and flirtations covering everything in a film. This moment feels honest.

Then Pete remembers that he’s kissed Frank before. Their first kiss was in a bed wearing boxers and t-shirts, so this is just one level up. 

So he leans in and kisses Frank, square on the lips, warm and firm. Frank just melts against him, leans in closer and drops his hand to rest on Pete’s thigh, the other on Pete’s chest. It’s a fucking gorgeous kiss, sweet and slow, bodies close but barely moving. Pete’s tingling all over, and he’s both turned on and full of butterflies. He pushes the butterflies down, buries them inside himself, because he’s not supposed to feel like this, not yet, it’s much too early to feel this way.

He slides his hands up and down Frank’s arms, touches his neck, runs his hands over Frank’s waist. He tries to see if he can tell which skin is inked and which is not using his fingertips alone, but really he doesn’t care. He tangles one hand into Frank’s hair and holds on, just enjoying touching and being touched.

Frank moves his mouth and kisses the side of Pete’s lips, then along his jaw and then his mouth lands open and wet on the thorns adorning Pete’s collarbones. Pete moans softly, so fucking glad that they’re already starting body-kisses, because he loves this. He wants Frank to kiss him _everywhere_. Frank’s got his other hand on the back of Pete’s neck and he uses the leverage to get himself closer, half in Pete’s lap.

Pete relaxes into it, puffs out his chest a little so that Frank’s mouth can cover more skin with ease. His mouth feels _amazing_ , and he scrapes his teeth over the ink and then soothes the skin with his tongue, drawing wet circles, following the ring of thorns.

Pete’s really enjoying it, starting to think Frank might move further south, when he hears Frank make an odd sound instead, and it sounds almost like laughing into the kiss. When Pete opens his eyes and pulls back a fraction on an inch, Frank _is_ laughing, silently shaking with his eyes scrunched shut. Pete looks down at where Frank is looking and instantly knows why; Sweetpea, is trying to worm her way into Frank’s lap. As adorable as she is, she’s not really supposed to be part of this make out session. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank says, and he looks shy, leans in close again and laughs into Pete’s neck. Pete can’t help but laugh too, because it’s kind of ridiculous. He reaches his hand out to join Frank’s in giving Sweetpea a scratch behind her ear.  
“She just wanted a cuddle too,” Pete says, though he’s no longer petting Frank, now petting a dog-hedgehog hybrid instead, and he’s a little sad about it.

Frank pets Sweetpea dutifully and then lifts her down to the floor again. She waddles off to sit in her basket and he turns his attention back to Pete. “So we could still finish that game?” he asks, though neither of them seem look interested anymore. Kissing is much, much better than Mario and Luigi.  
“We could. But maybe the prize should be something bigger?”  
A wry smile spreads across Frank’s red, kiss swollen mouth. “Like what? Like if I win I get to fuck you?”  
Pete feels the blood rush to his dick at even the thought. “Well,” he says, considering, his voice all shaky and low. “That’s a pretty big prize. What if I win?”  
“You can pick your prize.”

Frank’s hands are so fucking distracting. They’re back on Pete’s thigh, sliding up, up, up. Pete swallows thickly and tries to remember to form words. The only word he can think of is in fact _thighs_ which isn’t going to help him. He tries to think of what he wants, but all he comes up with is Frank’s previous suggestion. “I’m not sure what I want. But how do you know I won’t just try to lose so that you’ll fuck me?”

Frank smiles, all dirty warmth, and kisses him again. “You don’t want to fuck me?”  
“I mean. I _do_!” he stutters. The thought of slipping deep inside Frank, feeling him come from the inside is almost overwhelming. “But we’d be battling to see who tops, right?” He laughs a little and Frank catches him in a kiss. “Isn’t that something that’s usually carefully negotiated based on personal preference rather than a thing that’s won over a video game?”  
Frank laughs. “I guess,” and then, “Spoil sport.”  
“I am. So do you just want to fuck me?”  
“Yeah,” Frank says, his voice so low and his mouth a breath away from Pete’s. “I can get down with that. Come into my room.” His voice is nonchalant, but he leans right into Pete’s personal space and stares at Pete’s mouth like he can’t tear his eyes away.  
“Sweetpea’s not gonna come too, is she?” It’s a joke - sort of - but as cute as that ball of ragged wool is, Pete would rather this bit not be interrupted.  
“No. She won’t follow, but I’ll be operating a closed door policy for this portion of the evening. Just in case.”

He gets up and takes Pete’s hand, leads him to his bedroom. When the door is closed he hooks his thumbs into his boxers and pulls them down. Again he doesn’t break eye contact with Pete, and Pete pushes his a slow breath out through pursed lips; Frank is goddamn gorgeous. He’s also already hard, something that Pete knew already because of those deliciously-fitting boxers, but it’s even better now. Frank’s cock is dark with blood and shiny at the tip, and Pete’s mouth waters at the sight.

Frank’s hands join Pete's on his hips when Pete pulls his own underwear down. Pete shimmies out of them, but Frank’s hands stay where they are, drawing Pete closer once he’s naked. Pete swears under his breath when they press together, the silky skin of Frank’s dick bumping hot against his.

The roll around together on the bed for a bit, hands and mouths exploring. Pete wants to rub his hands all over every single one of Frank’s tattoos, then lick them, and then do it over again. He splays his fingers so he can cover more skin, spreading them over Frank’s full sleeves, over his chest, the swallows and lettering on his belly. His skin is hot, perspiration beginning to cover his back and chest, and it makes Pete want to touch him more. And Frank makes these _sounds_ , these happy little murmuring sounds that are both hot and butterfly-inducing - Pete likes them a lot.

Frank’s hands wander too, touching all over Pete’s body, but he pulls back a little, and he watches Pete’s face as he traces his finger tip over the bartskull below Pete’s naval. 

“Strictly from a tattoo artist point of view, this makes me want to lick your stomach,” he says, then he ducks his head and traces the heart shape with his tongue, and Pete laughs because it’s not the first time he’s been told that. “I’m assuming that’s the desired effect. That’s just my professional opinion, though.” He licks again and Pete’s hips jerk.  
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s the equivalent of a tramp stamp.”  
“That would be the rest of my professional opinion. I like it, though.”

“Thanks. Speaking as a dude who’s into looking at hot, naked, tattooed guys, all of your ink makes me want to lick it. But I’m not a professional.” Frank laughs hard, baring his teeth and scrunching up his eyes and Pete can’t help but grin too at his terrible, cheesy flirting. He rubs the flat of his palm over Frank’s chest and stomach, and then he says, “I was almost expecting your dick to be tattooed,” completely out of nowhere, and Frank cackles again. 

“Dude, no! But I can tattoo yours.” He runs a fingertip up the length of Pete’s shaft from base to tip which makes Pete’s breath stutter. “Lick me? Frank was here? Mighty oaks from little acorns grow?”

Pete laughs and laughs, but he pouts at the end. “Hey!” he protests. This might be a joke, but size jokes are the quickest way for any dude to lose his hard on. “Are you implying I’m a little acorn?”

Frank grins wide and so fucking dirty. He shakes his head. “Mighty oak,” he says, and kisses Pete deep and wet and perfect. The kiss continues until they’re pressed together, Frank straddling Pete’s lap.

“Didn’t we mention something about fucking?”

Pete nods, so fucking turned on, and Frank just grins and removes himself from Pete’s lap, arriving back a second later with lube and a condom.

Frank coats his fingers, and Pete spreads his legs in anticipation. Frank’s big, dirty smile never wavers as he circles his index finger around Pete’s hole before easing it in. He opens Pete up slow and easy, kissing Pete’s mouth, neck and jaw as he does, and Pete can’t think of anything but how fucking amazing it feels to have Frank’s fingers inside him and Frank’s mouth all over him.

Frank kisses him slow and deep and then moves away. He rolls on a rubber and slicks himself up, and then settles between Pete’s knees stroking upwards along the skin inside his thighs, his fingers damp on one hand from the lube. 

“So, maybe like this?” Frank asks, his face hopeful. They’ll be face to face, which Pete loves. It’s maybe a little bit more intimate than he’s used to for a first fuck, for a first sort-of-date, but it means kissing and touching. He nods and pulls Frank for a kiss.

Pete can’t understand why he feels a little awkward. He’s had more than his fair share of one night stands, he’s been fucked by complete strangers, and he and Frank have been flirting all evening, building and building towards something similar to this. But as he spreads his legs, as Frank rubs his hands over Pete’s inner thighs and then settles between them, he feels vulnerable. He doesn’t want to run, or to stop this - on the contrary, he can’t wait to be filled up by Frank. He does trust Frank, and he knows this is going to be good, but Pete still can’t help feeling a little exposed on his back with his knees in the air.

Frank fumbles down between Pete’s legs, brushing against Pete’s balls as he angles himself inside. Then he slides a little deeper, and then deeper again. Pete’s awkwardness dissipates when Frank pushes in, and all Pete feels is that hot, solid feeling of Frank inside him. He cries out, a long low cry, and Frank leans down and kisses him, swallows the moan, kisses his own moan into Pete’s mouth. He moves, not particularly slowly, but he’s not straight into fucking Pete fast and heavy either. 

“Fuck. Jesus Christ, Pete,” Frank moans. “You feel so fucking good.”  
Pete bites his lip hard. “Fuck, yeah. You can go faster.”  
“Sure?  
“Yeah, yeah. Go for it.”

Frank breathes hard, that dirty mouth of his hanging open as he shuts his eyes and thrusts again, goes a little faster. His hair falls around his face like a dark halo, and his face is heading for a shade of red similar to Pete’s. From the blissed out look on his face he looks like he feels as good as Pete does right now. Obviously neither of them know what the other likes, so there’s a little bit of experimentation. They move together for a while, clutching at each other tentatively, kissing and trying to figure out what’s best. Even so far though, it’s so fucking good, and Pete’s pulse is racing, his dick is throbbing.

Pete’s arching his hips up to meet Frank’s thrusts, and Frank spreads his knees trying to get closer to Pete, trying to get deeper. 

“Can you move your leg up?” Frank asks. He pats Pete’s thigh to indicate.  
“Like this?” Pete lifts his leg entirely so that it’s right up on Frank’s shoulder. It opens him up more, puts himself on display a little. He feels a little vulnerable like this, exposed.  
Frank just raises an eyebrow. “I just meant, like, my waist. But I can work with this.”  
Pete blushes, but there’s no way anyone would be able to tell, because he’s sure his face is already beet-red from the heat and the sweat and how motherfucking good this is. “Will I-- my other leg?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come on. Please!”

Pete brings his left leg up to meet his first and now he’s practically pretzel shaped, but it sends Frank deeper, and it’s so fucking good, worth everything. The exposed feeling is gone completely because Frank mouths at his calf tenderly, and he doesn’t even laugh at the tattoo Pete has of Gabe Fucking Saporta which he’s obviously seen up close now. 

Frank alternates between going hard and fast and slowing down to a snail’s pace, rocking into Pete deeper and with longer strokes. It’s maddening. Pete wants to tell him to hurry the fuck up, fuck him goddamn harder, turn him inside out and wear him like a hat, but it’s a little early for any of that. So Pete just moans and cries out, groaning into Frank’s mouth when they kiss. 

“Pete. Pete, I’m gonna come,” Frank says. His voice is shot and he sounds almost apologetic like he wasn’t quite ready. But then he’s coming, all gorgeous moaning and heavy breathing and he lies on top of Pete for a long minute with his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open. He pulls out, leaving Pete feeling empty and open, and sill so fucking turned on.

“What can I do for you? I want to make you feel good.” Frank asks between kisses to Pete’s mouth and jaw and neck, and Pete’s fucking ready.  
“Touch me. Have you any idea how hot your hands are?” 

Frank laughs, low and throaty, and he leans down and kisses Pete again, his hand travelling down Pete’s chest and over his belly and then wraps around his cock. He squeezes tight and Pete shuts his eyes, moaning a little. 

Frank stays right up close to Pete’s face, kissing his neck, behind his ear, his jaw. Pete should have guessed, considering that Frank is a tattoo artist and therefor talented with his hands, how good a handjob this was going to be. Maybe that’s a cliché, but it’s fucking _perfect_ the way his wrist moves, the pressure, the swipe of his thumb. 

Frank makes these little noises and he jacks Pete off, as he kisses, like even if he’s already come he’s really fucking enjoying this, and it twists something inside Pete.

Pete has to look down, has to see Frank’s tattooed fingers around his cock, working him furiously. He’s never particularly been too into tattooed hands before, but this is seriously hot. Frank sucks a hickey on Pete’s collarbone, and the sweet-sharp sting of a bruise coupled with Frank’s so-hot-it-should-be-illegal handjob, makes Pete come, his fingers tangled in Frank’s hair.

Pete only feels kind of awkward with Frank afterwards, and even then it’s just in that little your-dick-has-just-been-in-my-ass way rather than anything bigger. It’s short-lived, especially when Frank lies on his side, propped up on his elbow, and says, “So that was fucking _rad_!”

Pete, still lying flat out on his back, laughs ad laughs. “It fucking was.” In his post-orgasm haze, Pete admits, “I was kind of nervous.” His eyes are half closed but he can see Frank enough to notice the little flash of surprise that runs across his face.  
“I kinda thought you might be,” Frank says. Pete’s sure his cheeks burn redder at the thought that his nerves shone through even if he tried to cover them up. “Could you tell I was nervous, too?” Frank continues.  
“Nope. Really?” Pete asks brightly, his embarrassment gone. Seemingly they were on the same page from the start.  
“Yeah, maybe I’m just a better actor than you are today or something,” he shrugs.

Pete smiles, relieved and relaxed, and he lifts up his palm for a high-five.

Frank leans over, his arm wrapped around Pete’s waist, and he kisses him slow and sweet again. Pete has to twist halfway around to kiss back properly, but it’s so worth the possible neck injury. The kiss is amazing, and it feels like it book-ends their evening perfectly.

They settle down, but not until after Frank has to get up to let Sweetpea into the bedroom who’s scratching at the bedroom door. Pete watches Frank walk naked across the room and back again, still thinking he needs to get a proper up-close look at all of Frank’s beautifully inked skin. When Frank gets back into bed he returns his arm to Pete’s waist like it never left.

It’s not dark in the room, there’s a huge shaft of light coming from the hallway, and Frank’s left his bedside lamp on. Even with all that light, and even with Pete’s frequent difficulty sleeping, he finds his eyelids getting heavy, Frank’s warm weight against him acting like the Ambien he no longer takes.

Frank’s voice breaks the easy silence. “Just so you know, if someone is licking your face in the morning, it’s probably not me.”  
Pete laughs, because that sentence is ridiculous for how deadpan Frank said it. “Probably? As in, it could be?”  
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Frank giggles, gives Pete’s neck a little wet lick to demonstrate. “But I’m just warning you in case get freaked out. Sweetpea can be a face-licker.”  
“Oh, yeah,” Pete teases. “Blame the dog.” Frank’s hand is already perfectly placed on Pete’s waist so it takes no effort on his part to tickle Pete’s ribs, and it takes quite a lot of effort on Pete’s part to defend himself, breathlessly laughing, trying to pry Frank’s hand off him. “That’s playing real dirty, Iero.”  
“It’s totally not,” Frank says, all innocence.  
“I’m surprised you didn’t try that while we were playing Mario Kart.”  
“I would never.” Frank sounds mock-offended, and it’s adorable.  
“Well, we still have to complete our final battle, and the stakes will still be high,” Pete says.  
“So you’re going to keep a close eye on me?” Frank asks, pulling himself closer to Pete’s back, and Pete searches for his hand under the covers, links their fingers.  
“Count on it.”


End file.
